It's time that someone spoke out against these people, these people whose minds are so lost in a reverie of cheer and neurotic fortune that they suffer from lethargy in their limbs. They roam the streets in search of nothing, but bring grief to those with a genuine purpose and a worthwhile destination. One may even become some mentally extremist as to wonder why legislation has not yet been passed to strip these reckless cement soldiers from causing such a nationwide anger movement. They are out there. You see them on a daily basis. You want them eradicated, wiped from the earth, never to respawn lest their own static world might one day emerge. They are the people who walk too damn slow on the sidewalks. I don't know how, but I seem to end up behind one on a daily basis. "Why are you walking so slowly? It is not as though you cannot move at a quicker pace. It is not as though you are walking upon an incredibly gummy surface, causing your shoes to become embroidered in a brutal taffy quandary. It is not as though you are continually walking through an ever-shifting wormhole which forces you to appear in the eyes of others to be walking much slower than you actually are. It is not as though your legs are made of solid lead, forcing you to shuffle along at a clunky rate (and perhaps also forcing you to suffer the traumatic effects of lead poisining, or else you ought not to be outside wandering the streets without attempting to revive yourself of such ailments). It is not as though your Duracell AA-batteries are low and you demand a replacement pair before you will recommence your standard walking velocity. And it does not appear as though you seem to be physically disabled, though perhaps only mentally so, particularly when it comes to the employment of your legs for transportation. So what is your excuse? You are either extremely inconsiderate, you have the brain power of flounder toothpaste, or you are a midget. Midgets (or 'little people') are allowed to have a slower travel speed; you are exempt from my rage. So if you are walking slowly, I'm not going to slow down for you, because even though I don't consider myself to be a particularly important person in the neighbourhood, I still have errands to run and classes to attend, and I need not alter my plans because you are uncomedically imitating a snail. I am going to do what every patriotic human begin should not be afraid to do: I'm going to walk beside you. I'm going to pass you. I'm going to hoof dust in your face, and chortle while you taste the bitter cynicism of my sneakers. And I do not care if you are walking alone, or in a large group (I've always strongly believed in the basic theory of social connectivity, where idiots should be friends only with other idiots). I will pass you by as the legendary hare has done to the disgruntled tortoise. As I pass, you may look at me with shifty, squinty, undesirable eyes, scanning me intently and stamping me with the Dork Stamp of Dishonour. But I am not interested in your disheartening label; I am able to shrug off your wicked thoughts, for I, at least, am not cloaked with poor sidewalk etiquette, and for this I feel a great warmth sourced from within. I can even take this one step further: it was not a week ago that I was caught behind two individuals, a couple, a pair of insurmisable lovebirds who appeared to be floating around in the beyond euphoric state of the first phase of their relationship. Like I have said in the past, happy couples suck unless you are part of one. But this is not the basis of my discontent. No! It is that they were not only traveling at a speed suitable for the over-100 elderly crowd, but also that they were playfully nudging each other back and forth off the edges of the sidewalk, thus slowing them down even more. The "pass-on-the-grass" routine was no longer an option, and I was forced to remain tuned to their backsides, only comforted by the fact that I would eventually arrive at my destination before my sixtieth birthday. I do not need to see your boorish antics nor your overzealous display which forces the dwindling of my ever-powerful momentum. You waste my time. I should cheat with the girlfriend. I must make myself perfectly clear to those who choose to dawdle along on the sidewalk: you irritate me, you are a primary source of negative thoughts from within me, and you need to take your feet out of neutral and into drive. Too many times have I yearned for a hatchet in my hand, to wave with a superb battle cry and to lodge within a soft juicy cranium, to cause Sluggish Sally to bathe my shoes with their tepid blood, and to re-evaluate their travel plans for the future, if ever their eyes re-open and see the rectangles of the sidewalk again. I should not have such fantasies; it is not natural nor healthy. But I will not repent for this sin if they cannot admit their own. Slow walkers, you have been warned: move faster or go live in the forest with the kookaburras. I'm sure they can put up with your defects.